


day 2: au

by apocryphic



Series: mcgenji week 2016 [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, McGenji Week, Vigilante AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8370787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphic/pseuds/apocryphic
Summary: It's a game that Peacekeeper likes more than he should. More than he has any real right to, certainly, but that sure doesn't stop him, and most likely never will.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by alfheimr's [vigilante au](http://alfheimr.tumblr.com/post/152234050124/mcgenji-week-day-2-alternate-universe-a)!

The city is quiet.

Here, perched high above the tangle of streets with lights casting a pretty, ethereal glow on everything below, Peacekeeper can watch the world tick by. Cars still roll through the wet roads that glimmer from the past storm. Peacekeeper is more than a little alright with being an individual removed from it all, content to bask in the dark. He's not naive enough to think his time beneath the mask will be truly slow, though; the night is young and trouble has a tendency to find _him._

He huffs as he stands, dusting grit from the rooftop off the back of his pants. No sirens are wailing in the distance for him to rush towards. No disasters have occurred in days (a miracle!). Nothing's particularly demanding his attention — and that means he needs to look a little bit closer and keep an eye on everything.

Or maybe just one thing. There's a fancy gala going on, courtesy of that Morrison company. There'll be a lot of people there. Peacekeeper can think of one person who won't be, though; one person who'll have already slipped away with some excuse or another to take advantage of the otherwise silent night. Peacekeeper puts out his smoke, tugging the bandana back over his face, and starts looking.

He likes to think that he knows Sparrow's habits well enough to trace him place-to-place, but he knows for a fact that Sparrow is familiar with his stomping grounds just as well. Chances are good they'll cross paths, if only because neither of them can resist the entertainment the other provides. Bruises and injuries from scuffles are hardly more than something Peacekeeper would be tempted to call _love taps;_ and their smooth banter always leads into something _more._

It's a game that Peacekeeper likes more than he should. More than he has any real right to, certainly, but that sure doesn't stop him, and most likely never will.

He takes time to consider where Sparrow will make his first stop, but then he's as good as there. Getting close to the dark mansion — the Amaris will be out, attending the party, with _personalized_ invitations — is one thing. Getting inside is a whole _other_ thing. There's a hell of a security system held in those walls, and he's not keen on getting torn to pieces by any AIs. So Peacekeeper takes a look at the looming building, rolls up his sleeves, and starts up the side.

(It takes a bit. His lungs aren't in great shape. He's learned to count the seconds between bursts of speed.)

When he makes it, he waits and scopes it out. There's a skylight over the manor's main room he heads towards. Peacekeeper peers down through it, examines the furniture below in all of its extravagance, and makes an appreciative noise under his breath.

"Nice armchair," he murmurs, not too impressed, but he wouldn't mind taking the chance life's presenting to him to sit in it.

It isn't as if he _hears_ anything out of the ordinary; Sparrow's feet are always light, his movements ever silent. And Peacekeeper doesn't _see_ anything; Sparrow only shows what he wants to show. It isn't even a question of _knowing_ — truth be be told, there isn't a way in the whole damn world that he could pin him down. The second that Sparrow walks into a trap, he knows it, and makes sure everyone is more than aware that it's right where he wants to be.

Sometimes, Peacekeeper is sure Sparrow will be the death of him, and most times, he doesn't mind. That's possibly how Sparrow keeps catching him unawares: Peacekeeper, on some level, likes it when he does.

At the very least, it's a good explanation as to how Sparrow finds him then.

"Mm, it isn't exactly what I'm looking for."

Peacekeeper wheels around, metal hand catching air as Sparrow darts around him. There's a weight on him then — Sparrow, latched onto his back, now, c'mon — and it makes the world tilt, pushes gravity down, forcing Peacekeeper to throw his hands out and catch himself before his body shatters the glass. Splayed out like this, both arms shaking as he holds himself up over the skylight, Sparrow still clutching at him, it's all Peacekeeper can do not to plead mercy. His hat falls to rest on the skylight below.

Inhale. Exhale.

"Fancy meetin' you here," Peacekeeper says, teeth gritted. Sparrow tugs lightly on his ponytail, his chin coming over the side of Peacekeeper's shoulder. His visor lights up.

"Howdy, stranger," Sparrow says back, a smile in his voice. It would be nice, if Peacekeeper was not a few inches from falling many feet down, straight to several broken bones.

"What're you packin' under that spandex? Goddamn _heavy."_

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Sparrow's voice is dry.

Peacekeeper makes a noise somewhere between a pained groan and a choked wheeze. If his arms were not spread so wide, it wouldn't be such an ordeal. If Sparrow was not perched on his back, it wouldn't be so bad. Sparrow shifts then, moves up his body; Peacekeeper stays stubbornly still even as his muscles cry for help. His arms are shaking. If Sparrow is concerned about the both of them crashing through the glass, his body language shows none of it, scaling Peacekeeper's back as if he does this every day.

Under _very_ different circumstances, Peacekeeper would not mind this position so terribly much, but the hand of his that isn't metal is starting to go numb.

Sparrow reaches down, one arm hooked underneath Peacekeeper's shoulder and the other reaching, his hand flicking the latch of the skylight.

(Peacekeeper knows why there's a latch — Fareeha Amari needs a way to get back into her home quickly sometimes, especially from the rooftops; Raptora was a sight to see, even as she spurned her mother's wishes, and, well… Peacekeeper would be lying if he said he hadn't supported her from the start. He's still waiting on her to take him in one of these days, but they both know she hasn't got the heart.)

Before the hat still perched atop the glass can fall through as the skylight slides open, Sparrow snatches it. Peacekeeper tosses a strained look behind him to see the hat now fitted atop Sparrow's head. Both of them pause for different reasons. Neither of their mouths are visible, but Peacekeeper has a good feeling that Sparrow is smirking.

"I'm not gettin' that back," Peacekeeper states, because there's no question about it.

Sparrow shakes his head once. "No," he agrees, "you are really not."

He braces a foot against the furthest corner of the opening, moving his arms to wrap around Peacekeeper, agile as he shimmies around him until they're facing each other, pressed chest-to-chest, only still suspended because of the strength granted by Peacekeeper's prosthetic. He's leaning his weight on his left for the most part, and isn't displeased that Sparrow seems to be doing the same. And yet — Peacekeeper's heart is pounding in his ears, the green of Sparrow's visor too bright this close. Sparrow's other leg is hooked around Peacekeeper's, his ankle angled just right to keep him from dropping immediately. He hums; Peacekeeper can feel him staring at the bandana, the mask.

"Ah- _ah._ Fool me once, birdie," Peacekeeper murmurs.

There's a moment where only Peacekeeper's shuddering breaths can be heard. Sparrow seems to be considering, and his grip on Peacekeeper begins to loosen. Holding onto him is impossible; if Peacekeeper releases either of his hands, they'll both fall. Sparrow can and will land just fine when he chooses. Peacekeeper would _not._  Loose strands of hair are falling into his vision, but they're not in the way enough to hide how Sparrow tilts his head in interest, in challenge.

"I will give it back if you catch me," promises Sparrow, and lets go.


End file.
